


Make a Wish and it Just Might Come True

by halcyon1993



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek Hale, Angst with a Happy Ending, Christmas, Christmas Decorations, Christmas Eve, Christmas Shopping, Derek Needs To Use His Words, Emotionally Constipated Derek, Everybody Lives, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Good Alpha Derek Hale, Hale Family Feels, Idiots in Love, Insecure Stiles Stilinski, Love Confessions, M/M, Matchmaking, Mistletoe, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Oblivious Stiles, One Shot, Pack Bonding, Pining Derek Hale, Pining Stiles Stilinski, Requited Love, Scent Kink, Stilinski Family Feels, Tropes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-19 19:35:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13130604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halcyon1993/pseuds/halcyon1993
Summary: Christmas is fast approaching, and nearly everyone in the Hale pack is excited to spend it together at the rebuilt Hale house. Everyone except for Stiles. He feels left out with his friends all coupled up and can’t quite get into the holiday spirit because he is sure his feelings for the resident alpha are unrequited. Or are they?





	Make a Wish and it Just Might Come True

_\- Saturday, December 1st, 2012 -_

After spending most of the day with the pack, Stiles' jovial mood is long gone as he enters his house in the evening and locks the front door behind himself. The place is completely dark because his dad is out working a case and none of his friends could come with him to keep him company. It's lonely being one of the only two single people in the pack, the other being Derek. Everyone else is coupled up—Lydia and Jackson; Erica and Boyd; Ethan and Danny; Scott and Kira; Allison and Isaac; even Aiden and Cora got together a few months ago.

Stiles wants to feel happy for them, and he mostly does, but a tiny part of him is also resentful. He has no prospects. No one wants a piece of spastic, loud-mouthed, ADHD-having Stiles, and even if someone were to come up to him the next day and ask him out on a date, he isn't sure if he would say yes. He knows it would never go anywhere because his heart is already taken by the resident alpha.

He's miserable, truth be told.

With a sigh, Stiles pushes away from the front door and trudges slowly into the kitchen. He finds a note on the fridge from his dad:

_Won't be home tonight.  
Money for pizza's on the counter._

Sure enough, when Stiles looks to his right he spies a few bills pinned beneath a container of cheap instant coffee. He snaps them up, shoves them in the pocket of his jeans and moves to one of the drawers beneath the kitchen counter to find the menu for the local pizza place. The thin paper is crumpled even though it isn't that old, a testament to how often it has been used in recent weeks. The thought makes Stiles' mood drop even further.

A minute later, he decides he isn't hungry and tosses the menu back in the drawer and the money back on the counter.

"Fuck this…" he mumbles, padding to the stairs and climbing them to the first floor. He makes quick work of washing up in the bathroom and then climbs onto his bed, lies down and pulls the sheets up over his head, blocking out the world. He curls up on his side, his face buried in his knees, closes his eyes, and wishes that he had someone who would make this loneliness go away, someone who would put him first.

His sleep is uneasy.

* * *

_\- Sunday, December 2nd, 2012 -_

The next day, Stiles' spirits don't start out much higher. When he manages to drag himself out of bed at just after midday and eat his late breakfast at the dining table, he can tell that his dad hasn't been home yet. He hopes the man isn't working himself too hard and makes a plan to take some dinner down to the station for him if he isn't back by then. He goes upstairs to get his phone—it has his shopping list on it in the Notes app—and is surprised to see when he presses the home button that he has a bunch of missed calls and unread text messages from several members of the pack:

 **From:** Scotty McHottie  
**Sent:** 9:23 a.m.  
_Hey, we're all going to Derek's soon to deck it out for Xmas. You coming?_

 **From:** Catwoman  
**Sent:** 9:25 a.m.  
_10 a.m. Don't be late. ;)_

 **From:** Scotty McHottie  
**Sent:** 10:11 a.m.  
_Where are you?_

 **From:** Scotty McHottie  
**Sent:** 10:20 a.m.  
_Stiles?_

 **From:** Catwoman  
**Sent:** 10:23 a.m.  
_Get your ass over here ASAP or I'm gonna come over there and kick it._

 **From:** Jackass Shittemore  
**Sent:** 10:31 a.m.  
_Everyone's pissed at you, Stilinski. Good job._

 **From:** Scotty McHottie  
**Sent:** 10:54 a.m.  
_Did you get kidnapped by some bad guys or something?_

 **From:** Scream Queen  
**Sent:** 11:09 a.m.  
_You're off my Christmas list._

 **From:** Sourwolf Jr.  
**Sent:** 11:51 a.m.  
_My brother keeps glaring at everyone. Make it stop._

The last message was received just under half an hour ago. As Stiles reads through all of them again, a piece of his depressed mood breaks off and vanishes, leaving him feeling a bit lighter. He smiles to himself, a small thing, and is already preparing the apologies he will give everyone as he grabs a clean set of clothes from his dresser and goes into the bathroom to get ready. He spends just five minutes in the shower, knowing he has kept his pack waiting long enough, and then he is slipping into a pair of black boxer-briefs, his emerald-green chinos, a _Captain America_ T-shirt and his trusty red zip hoodie.

Suitably dressed, he dashes down the stairs and tears outside to his Jeep.

* * *

When Stiles arrives at the Hale house, it's nearing 1 p.m. and everyone else's vehicles are still parked out front. He slots himself in between Derek's Camaro and Jackson's silver Porsche before opening his driver's door and getting out, taking care not to accidentally bump it against the Camaro for fear of leaving a scratch or a dent. Derek would kill him.

The front door of the house is obviously unlocked, so Stiles lets himself inside and freezes when right away he is met with Erica's disapproving face.

"Where've you been?" the blonde asks, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Uhh…I overslept?" Stiles responds, anxiety making his voice go up at the end so that the words come out as another question. He tries not to shrink beneath the intensity of Erica's gaze as she stares at him silently for a while, but he is unsuccessful and can't stop himself from flinching when, all of a sudden, her arm snakes forward and she grabs his wrist.

Stiles allows himself to be dragged into the living room, where most of the rest of the pack is gathered. Like Erica, they level him with disapproval; all except for Scott, who doesn't seem to be a part of this act, and Derek, who isn't even in the room.

"S'goin' on, guys?" Stiles chuckles nervously, scratching the back of his head with his free hand.

"You'd know if you were here," Jackson sneers.

"Sorry, I—"

"Yeah, yeah, you overslept. I heard. Lame excuse, Stilinski."

Stiles huffs. "Nice to know you missed me, Whittemore."

Jackson's head snaps up and his mouth opens, no doubt to pour out some scathing retort, but Lydia interrupts him.

"Well, you're here now. Everyone back to work," the redhead orders, getting up from the black leather sofa and picking up a tangled bunch of fairy lights from the large mahogany coffee table. She shoves them at Stiles' chest on her way past.

"What am I supposed to do with these?" he asks her retreating back.

"You and Derek are doing the tree," she tosses over her shoulder as she moves into the kitchen.

"Uhh…what?"

Stiles examines the fairy lights for a moment and then turns back to the living room, which has emptied of all people but him. He sees things he hadn't taken notice of when he first entered because his attention was focused on his ticked-off packmates.

Christmas decorations have already been placed everywhere. The off-white feature wall has been adorned with a long row of pale lights up where it meets the ceiling, from which strings of more lights fall right down to the floor. There is a gap in the middle where the strings are shorter to compensate for the large brick fireplace, and because of this Stiles suspects that the whole thing was custom-made.

The mantlepiece is taken up by fake pine tree branches, in between which are various festive tchotchkes like a fat Santa and some reindeer and even—somehow—a little black wolf with a Christmas hat perched lopsidedly atop its head.

Elsewhere, on the floor to Stiles' left, there sit several plastic boxes in front of the living room window. The boxes are closed, but because the plastic is transparent he can see that they contain tinsel, ornaments and more fairy lights like the tangled mess he still holds in his hand. And next to these boxes, tucked into the corner of the room, is a naked fake Christmas tree, so tall it just barely misses the ceiling.

"Wow…" Stiles gapes, intimidated.

"It would already be done if you were on time."

Jumping out of his skin, Stiles spins around to find Derek standing behind him. " _Jesus Christ_ , don't do that!"

Derek's patented scowl is firmly in place, taking absolutely nothing away from his stupidly pretty face. His dark hair is slightly messy, leading Stiles to suspect that the pack had surprised him with their plan to decorate and the alpha could only be bothered to toss on some clothes after getting out of bed. He wears a pair of tight dark-blue jeans and a short-sleeved maroon Henley that hugs the considerable muscles of his chest and arms in all the right places. His feet are bare, and Stiles totally doesn't think the sight of them peeking out of the hems of Derek's jeans is adorable.

He tries not to stare, but it's useless and his heart ends up beating fast from something other than being startled.

"Let's just get this over with," Derek says, his voice bored.

Stiles stays back as the alpha crouches down, grabs the base of the tree and pulls it out from the corner so they can reach every side of it. He doesn't intend to sneak a peek at Derek's scrumptious ass as the wolf works; it just happens. It's a complete accident.

"What do you want to start with?" Derek asks him, standing at his full height again.

"Wha—?" Stiles says dumbly.

Raising an eyebrow, Derek tersely repeats the question.

"Oh, umm…I guess these should go on first, right?" Stiles waves the fairy lights around. "And then we'll do tinsel and finish with the ornaments and stuff."

"Fine."

The pair works with surprising efficiency. Stiles stands at one side of the tree while Derek stands at the other, and they pass the string of fairy lights back and forth as they work their way down from the top to the lower branches. After switching on the lights to quickly check that there is enough coverage and are no bald spots, they repeat the whole process with the silver tinsel, working it around the tree like the red stripe on a candy cane.

"Now the real fun begins," Stiles grins, crouching down and ripping the lids off of the boxes of ornaments.

"If you say so."

Glancing up, Stiles is about to make a comment about not being such a grump but he chokes on the words. Derek is standing closer than he thought, and his face is just inches away from Derek's crotch. Flushing bright-red, Stiles looks back down at the boxes of ornaments and begins sorting through them while thinking unsexy thoughts.

His dad and Melissa McCall making out.

Jackson as the kanima.

Cockroaches.

Scott in his underwear.

Peter in his underwear.

The last one works especially well for a moment, but then Peter morphs into Derek and Stiles is right back where he started. Worse off, actually.

"What's taking you so long?" Derek queries impatiently.

Stiles swallows tightly and doesn't look up, feeling thankful that he is hunched over and Derek won't be able to see his little problem. He'll still probably be able to smell it, though, so Stiles figures he's fucked anyway. If only.

"N-nothing," he lies, making a show of sorting through the ornaments with alacrity. He banishes all images of Derek on top of him from his mind and focuses on picking out the best ornaments for the Christmas tree, sticking to a colour scheme of gold and metallic red.

By the time he has picked out what he thinks will be enough to finish the tree, Stiles' arousal has decreased enough that he can stand up again without fear of humiliation. "We're using these," he says, pointing to the box he had moved his choices into.

Nodding, Derek drags the coffee table over to the tree and puts the box on top of it so that it's more easily accessible.

"So are you, uh, excited for the holidays?" Stiles asks as they begin.

"I don't know if 'excited' is the right word."

"Oh?"

Derek pauses to appraise him. Stiles must pass whatever test the wolf was giving him, because he keeps talking. "Christmas hasn't really been an event for me for some time now," he says, carefully hanging his third gold ornament on the tree, equidistant from the first two.

Stiles can't help himself, his filter nonexistent. "Why's that?"

Clenching his jaw, Derek glares at his handiwork. "Why do you think?"

It takes Stiles a moment, but then he understands and his eyes widen because it wasn't his intention to bring up such a sensitive topic. "Oh. That."

"Yeah. _That_."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—"

"It's fine, Stiles. Just keep decorating."

"O-okay."

The two lapse into silence as they continue to hang ornaments up on the tree, but the house isn't quiet by any means. In other rooms they can hear the rest of the pack laughing with and teasing each other as they finish putting up all the other decorations. The sound puts a smile on Stiles' face that he finds difficult to wipe off, until he sees the look on Derek's. It's morose and his hazel eyes are far away, his body working on autopilot as his mind wanders elsewhere. Stiles thinks he can guess what Derek is thinking about and feels bad all over again for bringing up his family.

"I get it, you know," he says, blocking out the sounds in the rest of the house.

His voice brings Derek back inside the room, but he keeps his eyes averted from Stiles and his countenance stays the same. "Get what?"

"Not wanting to celebrate the holidays after a loss. I get it." It's Stiles' turn to become sombre as he reminisces about sadder times. He is aware that the noise coming from the other rooms has lessened but forces himself not to think about the others listening in. "Even though it was just the three of us, me, my dad and my mom used to have great Christmases. It was my favourite time of year as a kid. It still is, I guess, but it's…different now. After my mom died, my dad and I stopped celebrating it. We didn't even put up a tree or anything the first year without her. My dad still doesn't really get festive anymore, so for the past few years I've just gone over to Scott's and celebrated the holidays with him and Melissa."

Stiles clears his throat. "So yeah, I know how much the holidays can suck."

"Why are you telling me this?" Derek asks, his tone unreadable.

Stiles glances at him and their eyes meet, but only for a second; the open and empathetic look on Derek's face is too much. "I just thought it might make you feel better," he replies, "to know that there's someone around who understands a bit of what you're probably feeling. Even if you don't like that person very much."

"Stiles…I don't not like you," Derek refutes quietly.

The human processes this and smiles. "Good to know. You're not so bad yourself, Sourwolf." He bumps their shoulders together.

"Whatever."

"Besides," Stiles continues, undeterred by Derek's feigned nonchalance, "maybe this year'll be different. They can't replace what we've lost, and I don't think anyone in this pack would want to try to, but pack is supposed to be like family, right? Maybe this'll be the start of good Christmases again."

"Yeah…maybe."

* * *

When Stiles arrives home that evening, he doesn't mind the house being empty anywhere near as much as he had the previous night. His chest is still filled with warmth because of the hours he had spent with his pack and then the hour he has just spent eating dinner with his dad down at the sheriff's station. He gently shuts the front door, goes up to the first floor and looks up at the little square hatch in the middle of the hallway ceiling.

Seeing the Hale house all lit up with myriad decorations and lights provided him the inspiration to search for his family's own Christmas stuff. He pulls the string that dangles from the hatch, steps back as the ladder comes down and then climbs it up into the attic. It's dark and dusty, with the pervasive smell of old, musty clothes and boxes. Because of the low ceiling, Stiles has to keep his head bowed as he reads the writing on the outside of the boxes closest to him. They don't contain what he is looking for, so he moves deeper into the attic, brushing cobwebs out of the way as he goes.

After some searching, he finds the Christmas decorations right at the back.

"Makes sense," Stiles mutters to himself. The decorations haven't been taken out for years, after all.

It requires some serious elbow grease, but eventually Stiles manages to get all of the boxes over to the open hatch, where he hits a snag in his plan: How is he supposed to get them down the ladder? He can't slide them down it, because the impact of hitting the hallway floor would no doubt smash a bunch of the decorations within.

Stiles stands there for a couple of minutes before he pulls out his phone and absentmindedly types out a message.

 **To:** Sourwolf  
**Sent:** 7:51 p.m.  
_Don't suppose you wanna come help get decorations down from my attic real quick?_

Once the text has been sent, Stiles descends the ladder and returns to the ground floor, where he waits for a reply. He doesn't have to wait long.

 **From:** Sourwolf  
**Sent:** 7:57 p.m.  
_Give me ten minutes._

Stiles panics when he reads who the message is from—he had meant to ask Scott for help but must have tapped on the wrong text conversation—but then he forces himself to calm down again. He stares at his phone screen for far too long, just waiting for the letters to change and reveal that Derek actually told him to screw off or something.

Stiles still hasn't gotten over his surprise at the alpha's agreeability when, just seven minutes after the text came in, there comes a knock on the front door. He jumps up so quickly from the living room sofa that his phone slips from his hand and bounces across the floor. When he races to snatch it back up he stubs his toe on the leg of the coffee table and curses loudly as he hops up and down on one foot and cradles the other in his hand. Once the pain has subsided somewhat, he realises that Derek will have just heard all of that and in his embarrassment ponders the likeliness of the floor opening up and swallowing him whole.

Unfortunately for Stiles' dignity, it isn't likely at all and so he trudges into the foyer and opens the door.

"Hi," he says to Derek on the other side, his face hot.

Derek doesn't even try to hide his amusement, his lips curling up into a smirk. "Hey."

Stiles points a finger at him. "Not a word…"

"I think I should get all the words I want. I'm here to do you a favour out of the goodness of my heart, aren't I?"

Narrowing his eyes and saying nothing, Stiles hates that he can't refute this.

The wolf laughs at the look on his face, a wonderful sound that leaves Stiles in awe and has his mild irritation fading rapidly. "I hate you," he lies.

Derek's expression relaxes and he removes his hands from the pockets of his jeans. "Are you gonna let me in or…?"

Stiles blinks, bemused, before he realises that they have been standing there for longer than is probably appropriate. "Oh, right!" he squeaks, taking a quick step to the side and holding the door open as Derek walks inside. When the alpha is standing expectantly in the foyer, he pushes the door closed, wincing when it slams, and nods at the stairs.

"They're up there," he says.

"Alright."

Derek strips off his leather jacket and hangs it up on the hooks that line the left wall like he does it all the time. For a moment Stiles thinks about his life if that were the case, but he stops himself before that train of thought can go any further. He carefully avoids looking at Derek's chest as he steps toward the stairs, at the way Derek's hard nipples create two obvious bumps in the soft-looking material of his henley because of the cold evening air.

"I'm not, uh, taking you away from anything, am I?" Stiles awkwardly.

"No. I was already in the area," Derek says cryptically from behind him, but Stiles doesn't really hear him.

"Oh, cool," he murmurs anyway.

Reaching the ladder, Stiles climbs up it again and asks Derek to wait at the bottom so that he can pass some of the boxes down to him. All in all he takes six down from the attic, and by the end his arms are sore and he is out of breath. By comparison, Derek hasn't even broken a sweat, which makes Stiles half disappointed and half jealous.

"Thanks," he gasps when his feet touch the hallway floor again. "You can leave now if you want. I can put these up by myself."

"I don't mind."

Stiles stares at Derek in disbelief. "You, Sourwolf extraordinaire, don't mind helping me put up my decorations even though you only just put up your own?"

"Is your brain not getting enough oxygen or something?" Derek smirks. "Because I think I spoke pretty clearly."

Stiles tries to get the words out, but all he can manage when Derek laughs again is to open and close his mouth several times like a fish. When he regains control of it, he snaps it closed. "Yeah, yeah…" he says dismissively. He bends down, hefts one of the boxes into his arms and walks toward the stairs. "Quit making fun of me and just help me get all these downstairs so we can make a start at decorating, okay? You great big grump."

* * *

Once the last ornament has been hung up on the Stilinskis' Christmas tree and the last string of fairy lights attached to the inside of the windows, Derek's favour is done, something about which he is glad. Being alone with Stiles is taxing on his self-control. Every instinct in his body tells him to kiss the boy senseless, to keep him safe and always by his side, and that can't happen. Stiles is too good to be tied down to him. So, after making a quick trip up to the first floor with the excuse of needing to use the facilities, Derek takes his leave.

He drives back home in silence and is thankful to find when he arrives that the members of his pack who were lingering when he got Stiles' text are gone. It's just him and Cora now, so he looks forward to some peace and quiet.

He doesn't get it.

When Derek walks through the front door, his sister is on him. "So, where did you run off to so quickly?" she asks from her position on the stairs.

"None of your business, brat," Derek replies, trying to act casual.

"I've got a theory."

"Good for you," the alpha says, hanging up his jacket.

"You wanna hear it?"

Derek sighs and crosses his arms. "I know that saying 'no' isn't going to stop you, so fine, go ahead."

"You like Stiles," Cora expounds, stepping down the stairs with an air of confidence and superiority. She inhales dramatically. "You smell even more like him now than when you left, which means the text you got was from him and you went to see him. And judging by how fast you hightailed it out of here and how long you were gone…you must like him _a lot_. Also, don't think I didn't notice how you were when we were decorating and Stiles didn't show up on time. You were unusually scowl-y, even for you, but when Stiles finally got here you stopped. That's my theory."

Derek is too stunned by his sister being right on the money to offer up a rebuttal, which, to her, confirms that she is right.

"I knew it," she grins. "So, when're you gonna tell him?"

"I'm not," Derek says when he finds his voice again. "And you're not going to either."

Her grin disappearing, Cora looks dumbfounded. "Why not? You like him, and I know you know he likes you back. What's the problem?"

"It's just not going to happen, Cora," Derek insists, walking up the stairs and away from the conversation. "Let it go."

When Derek reaches his bedroom, he closes the door with more force than necessary and sits at the foot of his bed. He stares at the five conspicuous items on top of his dresser, each wrapped in green wrapping paper, and debates the pros and cons of continuing in his little mission to cheer Stiles up. If he does continue, then it might be successful and Stiles will be happier again, but it might also mean more people figuring out how he feels for the boy.

In the end, the thought of Stiles' sad face from the day before has him deciding to keep going, but he'll take as much care as he can not to be discovered.

* * *

_\- Monday, December 3rd, 2012 -_

Early the next morning, Stiles tears himself out of bed and stumbles down the stairs to the kitchen, his stomach growling angrily at him. He takes a bowl out of the cupboards, fills it with cornflakes and milk and mindlessly shoves spoonful after spoonful into his mouth. Leaning against the counter, he doesn't think about anything until he lifts his spoon to his lips again and finds that there is nothing on it, the last of his cereal already in his stomach.

"I see you decorated while I was working last night," Stiles' dad comments from the kitchen doorway.

Stiles almost drops his empty bowl amidst his flailing, but he manages not to and puts it delicately in the sink before that can change. "Uh, yeah," he says sheepishly, turning back to his dad. He notes idly that the man is still in uniform, so he must have only just got home. "I guess helping Derek with his place got me in the mood. Are you…" He pauses, swallowing around the lump in his throat. "Are you mad?"

The sheriff frowns at him. "Why would I be mad?"

"It's just…I know you don't really like this time of year anymore," Stiles explains carefully.

"That's not true."

"It's not?"

The sheriff shakes his head. "In the past, yes, it was. But I think we can handle it now, and from the state of the house I'd venture you agree."

"I just figured it might be nice," Stiles says.

"It is." The sheriff smiles kindly and then checks his watch. "You'd better get ready for school, kiddo."

Nodding, Stiles stops just long enough to give his dad a sideways hug before rushing out of the room and up the stairs. When he enters his bedroom he rifles through his dresser for something to wear, tossing out the clothes he doesn't want without caring where in his room they land. He ends up regretting that lack of care when he hears something hard fall to the floor behind him. Spinning around, his eyes alight on where one of his T-shirts has knocked one of his Xbox 360 controllers off of his desk. He walks across the room to pick it up.

As he sets it back in its place, Stiles notices something that shouldn't be there.

His MacBook is closed in the middle of the desk, and perched atop it is a small flat box wrapped meticulously in plain dark-green paper.

"What the…?"

Cautiously, Stiles leans down and examines it. There isn't a tag or a label or anything to tell him where it came from, and his first thought is that it could be dangerous. Even though no one has tried to murder all of his friends for months now, he knows he can never be too careful.

After some contemplation, Stiles picks up the box and shakes it gently, listening as its contents moves around inside. It doesn't make a much noise, and because it hasn't exploded or anything, he supposes that he was wrong about it being dangerous and hopes that it really is as innocent as it looks.

His curiosity gets to be too much and he can't resist tearing off the wrapping paper. Within is a red cardboard jewellery box, the top of which Stiles pulls off to find out what's inside. At first, all he sees is a sheet of protective foam, but when he sets that aside he finds a flat pewter keychain in the form of the head of a wolf. The wolf is in profile and has been rendered in the middle of a howl, and its neck is comprised of elegant knots that look Celtic. It's beautiful.

Stiles dangles the keychain in the air and stares at it as it slowly spins. He is so entranced that he forgets what he was supposed to be doing until his dad shouts up the stairs.

"Stiles! Get a move on! You're going to be late!"

Hastily, the boy grabs his car keys from where they lie on his desk and clips his new keychain to them. He looks at it for another couple of seconds before grabbing clothes at random and dashing out of his bedroom.

* * *

Stiles gets to the high school to find the majority of the pack already gathered outside, presumably waiting for the last few stragglers. He gets out of his Jeep and walks in their direction. He can see that several of them are engaged in a somewhat passionate discussion, at the centre of which is Cora. Stiles is curious, but before he can hear it or even ask what it's about, it cuts off and the participants all turn to him with carefully blank faces.

Stiles is a little weirded out but writes it off as nothing.

* * *

Stiles keeps telling himself it was nothing until the same thing happens at lunch.

He walks with Isaac, Scott and Jackson to the cafeteria and gets in line with a lunch tray in his hands. As he is served whatever meal is on the menu that day, he turns his head and looks around the large room to locate the rest of the pack. He eventually spots them at a table near the back corner.

They are all conversing with each other in two smaller groups, which in itself isn't unusual. But when Stiles has his completed lunch and meanders through the other students to get to the table, one of the conversations—the one involving all of the girls this time and not just a few like that morning—is again brought to a jarring halt. The girls don't look his way like they did outside, not even Erica, and that is just as strange because Stiles would expect them to at least say hello to him as he sits down next to Kira. But all he gets is awkward silence.

His overactive imagination kicking into gear, Stiles begins thinking the worst. His whole body feels hot and itchy and his stomach roils at the idea that maybe the others were talking about him and that's why they stopped when he showed up. The rational part of him is aware that it's probably just paranoia—after all, the pack were great the day before, when they all chipped in to decorate the Hale house. But he has had enough experience being sidelined by his peers that the thought processes are just ingrained in his brain.

He picks at his lunch, no longer hungry, and doesn't pay attention to what happens around him until Scott taps him on the shoulder.

"Dude, didn't you hear the bell?" the beta asks him.

Raising his head, Stiles is startled to see that the cafeteria is basically empty. Lunch is over. "Oh."

"C'mon, we're gonna be late for Econ," Scott urges, picking up Stiles' mostly full tray himself and leading the way to the exit. "I _really_ don't want coach to give me detention again."

* * *

_\- Friday, December 7th, 2012 -_

"Remind me why we have to do this _now_ ," Stiles whines, trudging along behind Derek.

The pair are out in the preserve to check the Hale pack border, making sure that their scents are still present enough to deter omega wolves and other harmful things from entering the town without Derek's permission. Stiles was at first intrigued by the idea and didn't mind volunteering to tag along with the alpha when no one else seemed to want to go, but now he is seriously regretting his prior eagerness.

He is freezing his balls off. The ground beneath his feet crunches with snowfall from the night before and his breaths puff out in a cloud of white mist in front of his face. Wearing just a pair of jeans, a white T-shirt and a red plaid overshirt, he didn't dress anywhere near warm enough to deal with the freezing temperatures. He glares at Derek's back, envy bubbling in his gut at the sight of his warm-looking leather jacket and the knowledge that Derek isn't as affected by the cold anyway because of his status as a werewolf. Damn him.

"Because I do this every month," Derek explains impatiently, "and today is the day I usually do it."

"Normally people do things at the beginning or the end of the month, not in the middle," Stiles snarks, folding his arms around his torso and shivering violently. His teeth chatter, making it difficult to get his words past them. "And they _d-d-definitely_ wouldn't do it when there's a risk of getting frostbite and losing all of their limbs. You're f-fucking insane."

Derek scoffs. "No one made you come with me."

"Psh, this isn't my fault…"

"Sure it's not," Derek drawls.

"You're really mean, you know that?"

"I do know it."

"Well…q-quit it!"

With a roll of his eyes Derek stops speaking, leaving Stiles to freeze to death in peace. He keeps trailing along behind him, wondering how much farther they have to walk before they finally finish circling the perimeter. He hopes they finish before his legs fall off.

Stiles can't feel his ears anymore and he knows his cheeks and nose are probably bright red. His thighs ache with the effort it takes to drag his feet through the snow, which is ankle-deep even beneath the canopy of the trees. He wonders how long it will take him to die if he were to just lie down and accept his fate. It would be fine; he's had a good life.

"Stiles, what's the hold-up?"

Raising his eyes from the ground, Stiles blinks up at Derek and realises that he had at some point during his musings come to a standstill.

"Oh. Sorry. Just got distracted is all."

"I'm not carrying you."

Stiles sputters. "I wasn't g-going to ask you to!"

"Right."

"I wasn't!"

Derek harrumphs. "You really didn't think this through, did you?" he asks, gesturing to Stiles' attire. "A sweater or something would've helped."

"Yeah, well, hindsight's a bitch."

"Here."

Stiles gapes when Derek slips off his jacket and offers it to him. "W-what?"

"Just put it on, dumbass. Like I said, I'm not carrying you, so I'd rather your fragile human body didn't collapse from hypothermia or something."

"Oh, you should be so lucky…" Stiles mumbles. Slowly, like he is scared it's all a trick and Derek will take back his jacket at any moment, he reaches for it and takes it from him.

The leather is supple and soft, and as Stiles slides his arms into the sleeves and pulls it close around him he discovers that it has Derek's wonderfully masculine scent embedded in it. His eyes close without his volition and he turns his head to the side, burying his nose in his left shoulder and inhaling deeply. When he regains his other senses and realises what he has just been doing, Stiles' eyes snap back open and he peers nervously at Derek, afraid of his reaction. But the wolf isn't even facing him and Stiles lets himself pretend that Derek is unaware, that he didn't hear him.

It's safer for his sanity if he makes himself believe that.

"You ready to keep going?" Derek asks him without turning back around. "We don't have much more to check and then we can go back."

Keeping the alpha's jacket tight around him, Stiles starts walking again.

* * *

Stiles gets home in the evening to find another present waiting for him on his desk. It is wrapped in the same green paper, but instead of a box it looks more like a book. Stiles approaches it, picks it up and removes the paper to find that he was right. The title at the top of the front cover reads _The Healthy Heart Cookbook_ in big red letters. At the bottom there is a picture of some grilled chicken and seared mixed vegetables on a white plate, but some of it is obscured by a yellow Post-it note.

_To help you take care of your dad._

The note is handwritten and Stiles suspects it comes from a member of his pack, but who? The letters are all neat and capitalised, making it impossible for him to even hazard a guess. He thinks he can rule Jackson out right away. There's no way in hell the lacrosse co-captain would ever do something this nice for him. He rules Derek out as well for the same reason.

Maybe Scott? The crooked-jawed beta is the one who best knows how much he worries about his dad's health.

"Yeah, it must be him," Stiles says to himself.

He drops the cookbook back on his desk and pulls out his phone.

 **To:** Scotty McHottie  
**Sent:** 9:03 p.m.  
_Little early, buddy, but thanks for the present. :)_

Three minutes later, a reply comes in.

 **From:** Scotty McHottie  
**Sent:** 9:06 p.m.  
_What present?_

Frowning now, Stiles types out another text to his best friend.

 **To:** Scotty McHottie  
**Sent:** 9:07 p.m.  
_Uhh the cookbook? You left it on my desk._

 **From:** Scotty McHottie  
**Sent:** 9:09 p.m.  
_Nope, wasn't me._

At a loss, Stiles locks his phone and picks up the cookbook again. "Who the hell…?"

* * *

_\- Saturday, December 15th, 2012 -_

Just over a week later, Stiles hasn't had any more presents mysteriously appear in his bedroom. He's a little sad about it, but he doesn't have time to dwell on it when Scott and Allison show up at his house and drag him out for a pack shopping trip at the Beacon Hills Mall. It was Lydia's idea, apparently, for them to all spend the day out together and buy each other's Christmas presents all at once. Stiles thinks she just wants a chance to see what everyone is getting her so that she can steer them toward something she would like better.

When he, Scott and Allison meet up with the others in the food court, Stiles' stomach rumbles. He didn't get the chance to eat breakfast thanks to his best friend and the huntress, so he looks longingly at the options before him. He licks his lips when he smells curly fries and is about to head over to buy some when he is intercepted.

"Where d'you think you're going?" Lydia asks him, one eyebrow raised.

"Uhh…to get something to eat," Stiles responds.

Lydia shakes her head and pushes him away from the delicious-smelling food. "Not until you're done shopping," she says, her tone brooking no argument. She keeps pushing him until he is forced to stand next to Derek. "You two are a pair. Congratulations."

"W-what? Why?" Stiles stammers wide-eyed.

Derek glares, affronted.

"You're the only single ones," Cora answers, sounding bored. "Obviously."

Stiles' eyes flick over to Derek, unable to stop himself from thinking a quick 'What if?'

"But—"

"Alright!" Lydia speaks over him, clapping her hands loudly. "Let's all split off. We'll meet here again in a couple of hours. That should be enough time to get gifts for everybody. _Then_ you can have your precious curly fries, Stiles." She shakes her head disparagingly as she walks away with Jackson, making Stiles pout.

"Meanie…" Stiles says under his breath, scuffing his shoes on the floor.

Derek sighs. "Let's just get this over with."

* * *

His arms and legs aching, Stiles dumps his shopping bags in the middle of his bedroom floor and falls facedown onto his bed, his head just missing the pillow. He groans into the sheets and wishes fleetingly for death so that he won't have to relive the day in his mind. It seems to be a recurring thought with him lately. But, because the Powers That Be hate him, he isn't granted this mercy.

Walking around the mall with just Derek for company was…an experience.

The man was surly and taciturn the whole time, which wasn't out of the ordinary as Derek nearly always acts that way whenever he is around people outside of the pack. What _was_ out of the ordinary, at least to Stiles, was that Derek kept stealing glances at him. Stiles couldn't discern the expression on the alpha's face because, by the time he noticed the glances and returned them, Derek would have already looked away again.

It happened several times throughout the two hours they shopped. Ordinarily Stiles would've masochistically welcomed the excuse for some one-on-one time with Derek, but by the end of it he just felt self-conscious. He thought that maybe he had something on his face or in his teeth, but checking his reflection in the window of one of the stores they passed by revealed nothing.

When he and Derek eventually reconvened with the others, Stiles was glad. For one thing, it took his mind off of those weird glances Derek kept giving him, and it also reaffirmed to him that his paranoid thoughts of the pack growing tired of him and talking about him behind his back were just that.

Stiles allows himself a few minutes to wallow in the unrequitedness of his crush before he forces himself to get up again. Sliding off of his bed, he goes through his shopping bags and organises all of the things he bought into small piles, one for each recipient. He is slightly embarrassed for himself when he notices that Derek's pile is bigger than all of the others, and he ends up shoving everything in his closet. Out of sight, out of mind, and all that.

When he steps away from the closet door, he notices a flash of green out of the corner of his eye. He knows that green.

Sure enough, when he faces his desk he finds another present sitting atop it. It looks like another box, bigger than the one that contained the wolf keychain. Stiles picks it up and feels that it's reasonably light and there is more than one thing ratting around inside. His curiosity once again getting the better of him, he rips off the paper and discovers that the lid of this box is made of clear plastic, meaning he can already see the six spools of red, green and yellow twine that are inside.

Glancing up at the noticeboard he has on his wall for keeping track of the supernatural goings-on in town, Stiles marvels at the timing. He smiles to himself as he pulls open the top drawer of his desk and puts the plastic box next to the twine he already has in there, which is close to running out.

He wonders whether or not the giver knew.

* * *

_\- Saturday, December 22nd, 2012 -_

Over the next week, Stiles receives several more mysterious presents, each of them with a Post-it note attached.

A couple of rolls of duct tape:

_For your Jeep._

An old-looking book on mythological creatures:

_To keep you out of trouble._

A cozy red sweater:

_So you can stay warm when it's cold._

The last one is enough to make Stiles suspect for a moment who is leaving them all, but he dismisses it outright because there is just no way. He keeps all of the gifts on the left side of his desk, where he can look at them even from his bed. While he still isn't sure who is responsible for them, he is incredibly thankful for the physical proof that someone apart from Scott and his dad is paying attention to him and cares enough to make sure he knows it.

* * *

_\- Monday, December 24th, 2012 -_

On Christmas Eve evening, the pack gathers at the Hale house to exchange presents and spend some time together before they all get roped into spending the following day with their families. Stiles is the last person to show up. He carries his bags of messily wrapped gifts through the front door that Cora graciously opens for him and dumps them with all of the others beneath the tree in the living room. Out of breath, he then falls into the free seat on the sofa next to Scott.

"Alright, who's doing the handing out?" Lydia asks the room from her place sitting demurely in Jackson's lap.

"Not it!" Erica shouts.

She is echoed by everyone else. Even Stiles manages to gasp the two words out, leaving Derek as the only one who didn't speak them.

"Looks like it's up to you," Lydia tells him, waving her hand at the tree.

Derek glares at her but still moves away from his position leaning against the wall to approach the heaping piles of presents. Each member of the pack buying at least one thing for everyone else apparently adds up quickly, because there are nearly two hundred gifts beneath the tree. Most of them aren't very big, though, so Derek is able to hand them out to their recipients with little trouble. He throws them at the betas, whose fast reflexes make catching them easy, and slides them across the floor to the humans. By the time all of them have been doled out, Stiles has a pile of sixteen presents at his feet and Derek has twenty-four.

"Everybody ready?" Erica grins, her fingers poised to rip the paper off of her first package.

"Yes!" the others chorus; sans Derek, who is busy reading the labels on all of his gifts. Stiles watches him out of the corner of his eye and tries to act natural when the alpha looks up at him, no doubt figuring out that he has an strangely large number from him.

"Go!"

Wrapping paper flies everywhere as the wolves tear into their piles of gifts. It covers the floor until there is almost no visible polished wood left. Stiles is a bit more sedate as he unwraps his, but he still gets caught up in the excitement and laughs when he notices how Ethan keeps balling up pieces of paper and throwing them at the back of Jackson's head, infuriating the lacrosse co-captain to no end.

"One more time, Steiner…I dare you," Jackson hisses, his eyes flashing blue.

"Bring it, Whittemore," the twin smirks.

"No fighting in the house," Derek interpolates sternly, staring his betas down.

"You're no fun…" Ethan sighs, going back to opening his last few presents at Danny's urging.

Soon enough, the chaos ends and then begins the cleanup. There is much complaining and whining, but Derek just tells them to shut up because the mess was their own doing. While the others pick up all of the wrapping paper, Stiles leaves his pile of presents on the floor next to the coffee table and migrates outside. He retrieves a couple of the Tupperware containers that are currently in the backseat of his Jeep.

When he comes back inside, it's to Derek standing in the foyer.

"What're those?" the alpha enquires, his arms crossed over his chest.

"I made some Christmas cookies earlier today," Stiles replies, looking down at the containers. "It's something my mom and I used to do every Christmas Eve, and since we've been getting back into the spirit of things this year…I figured, what the hell?"

"I see."

"You wanna give me a hand? There are still a few more in my Jeep."

Derek nods. "I guess I can do that."

While the werewolf goes to get the second batch of cookies, Stiles briefly reenters the living room and places the first few containers on the coffee table. "No eating these just yet," he orders, pointing an accusatory finger in Scott's direction.

"Why are you singling me out?" the beta pouts.

"Experience."

When he is satisfied that no one will touch the cookies until they are all ready, Stiles returns to the front door and accepts the Tupperware Derek gives him.

"One more load," the alpha says, venturing outside for a final time.

A moment later, the front door is shut, keeping out the cold, and Derek and Stiles walk side by side toward the living room. They both freeze when they find the others all staring at them.

"Uhh, what's going on, guys?" Stiles asks nervously.

"Well, would ya look at that," Cora lilts, her eyes focused on something above his head.

Looking up as well, Stiles' heart stops when he sees a sprig of mistletoe hanging in the divide between the foyer and the living room. It wasn't there before, so it must have been put up while he and Derek were outside. He presumes it's fake—at least he hopes it is for the sake of the werewolves—but that is just a passing thought because he then remembers who is also standing beneath it.

Apprehensively, Stiles turns his head and peers at Derek, a tiny part of him—the part of him that apparently didn't learn a lesson from Lydia—hopes for something to happen. But of course it doesn't. Derek just looks constipated, like he'd rather do anything else.

Feeling a panic attack coming on, Stiles thrusts the containers he still holds at Derek and gets himself out of there. He hears someone shouting something behind him but it's just white noise, none of the words discernible. His brain screaming repeatedly at him to leave, Stiles slams through the front door and is driving away in his Jeep before he even registers opening the driver's door. When he dares to look at the rearview mirror just before the Hale house is out of view, he sees Derek standing in the open doorway.

* * *

Stiles is moping in his bedroom and idly contemplating the pros of moving to Canada—at least it's not death this time—when Scott and Lydia come to find him. He knew someone would show up eventually, so he doesn't offer a word of protest when they enter his bedroom. He keeps lying on his front on his bed and doesn't look away from his end-table, holding his pillow tightly and feeling like a complete fool, the most humiliated he thinks he has ever felt.

"Your dad let us in," Scott informs him like it isn't obvious.

"Cool."

"Stiles…what's going on?" Lydia asks, sitting down next to him and putting a hand on the small of his back.

The touch is likely supposed to be comforting, but it has the opposite effect on him, makes him tense up. Stiles shrugs as best he can in his current position and simply says, "I don't wanna talk about it," as if that will actually get the beta and the banshee to leave him alone.

He listens as Scott walks across his room, picking things up and then setting them back down seemingly at random, like he hasn't been in there thousands of times over the years and seen it all before. It seems the beta is going to let Lydia take the reins with whatever they both came over to do, which distantly Stiles thinks is for the best.

"Well tough," Lydia counters. "You're going to talk about it."

"I'm really not, Lyds."

"I'm…I'm sorry about what happened. That wasn't the right way to go about things."

This gets Stiles' attention. "What do you mean?" he prompts, sitting up but keeping his gaze on the pillow now in his lap.

"The mistletoe. It was my idea."

Flicking his eyes up to the redhead's guilty face, Stiles sighs. "Why?"

"Because I know how you feel about Derek and I wanted to help you," Lydia replies. "We all know…well, the girls do, anyway. I think of the guys, only Scott and Danny know."

Stiles takes it back. _This_ is the most humiliated he has ever felt. He thinks back to how the girls stopped talking when he showed up at their lunch table near the beginning of the month and finds that things make a whole lot more sense now. "So what? You'd all get together and make fun of me behind my back?" he accuses, his humiliation causing him to lash out.

"No, we'd never do that!" Lydia denies ardently. "We just…"

"You just what?"

"We wanted to help, and we thought Christmas would be the perfect time to do it."

"Well, you were wrong—obviously—so just drop it please. I don't think my fragile little ego can take much more of that."

Lydia opens her mouth to say something else, but Stiles keeps talking right over her.

"I mean, you'd think I'd know better by now, right?" he rambles, throwing his pillow aside and getting to his feet. "Just look at how my stupid crush on you turned out! I spent _years_ chasing something that was never gonna happen in a million fucking years, but no-o-o! My stupid heart just has to go and fall for someone else _completely_ out of my league who would never, _ever_ feel the same way. Look at me, for fuck's sake! There's no universe out there in which Derek and I make sense. He's so…and I'm just… I'm so tired of feeling like a third wheel around all of you guys, and I didn't want to tell anyone because I'd never want to make Derek uncomfortable around me. But apparently everyone knows anyway! I'm such a pathetic idiot."

When Stiles goes quiet again, his breathing heavy, Lydia finally speaks. "Are you done?"

Stiles nods jerkily. "Yeah, I'm done."

"Good. Firstly, yes, you _are_ an idiot. A blind idiot."

Insulted by her agreeing with him, Stiles narrows his eyes at the wall.

"You really don't see what's right in front of you, do you?"

"And what's that?" Stiles says sardonically.

"That Derek feels the same way about you as you feel about him," Lydia answers patiently, standing too.

Stiles scoffs. "Yeah, right. If you're trying to make me feel better, you're doing a shitty job."

"It's true! I've suspected as much for a few months now, but I could never be sure because Derek is difficult to read at the best of times. Then, when Cora came to me a few weeks ago with the same conclusions, I knew I was right."

"Can you both just leave, please?" Stiles whispers, all the fight draining from him. "I don't really want company right now."

Thankfully sensing that he won't be swayed, at least not right then, Lydia nods. "Fine," she acquiesces, putting her hand on Stiles' shoulder on her way out. "Think about what I said, okay? I promise I'm not making this up."

"Just…go."

With a resigned sigh, Lydia exits the room.

Scott stays behind, though, ignoring Stiles' wishes. "Is this new?" he queries, picking up the red sweater Stiles had found on his desk just a couple of days before.

"Yeah…" Stiles says.

Scott fingers the soft material and hums approvingly. "It's nice."

"I haven't worn it yet."

"Why not?"

"Just haven't."

Scott stares at his friend worriedly. "You sure you wanna be alone?"

Stiles nods.

"Alright." Setting the sweater back on the desk, Scott gives the other boy a quick hug before walking toward the door. He pauses just before he leaves and says one last thing, his voice a bit too thoughtful to be natural. "You know, it's funny. It smells an awful lot like Derek's been in here recently. Quite a lot, in fact. Yeah…very funny."

Alone now, Stiles frowns at the floor and thinks of both of his friends' parting words. They don't really make sense to him, but now that he has time to ruminate on them in peace he realises that Lydia wouldn't lie like that just to make him feel better. She would tell the truth, even if it hurts, and be around to pick the pieces up afterward.

He remains certain for a moment that she was simply mistaken—the notion that Derek could like him back is still ludicrous—but then he thinks of what Scott had said on his way out and whips his head around to look at the pile of mysterious presents on his desk.

Derek has been here multiple times, Scott said.

Derek…

Shit. _Shit_. Maybe they weren't wrong.

Stiles picks up the red sweater and tears off the Post-it note from where he'd stuck it to his wall. He sees the sweater for the first time for what it is. He recalls the afternoon he and Derek had spent checking the pack border in the snowy preserve, how Derek had lent him his jacket and told him he should have brought a sweater with him. Well now he has one.

Stiles recalls complaining to Derek in the past about his dad sneaking in fast food while on the job, and now he has a cookbook full of healthy meals.

He thinks back to the expression he had seen on Derek's face before he ran out earlier that evening and considers it from a different perspective. Perhaps Derek didn't look like that because he never in a million years wanted to kiss Stiles. Perhaps he looked like that because he wasn't ready to tell him yet, or because he didn't want to do something like that in front of the whole pack. Derek doesn't seem like the type who would enjoy PDA, after all.

Stiles doesn't quite know how the other gifts fit into things yet, but it somehow all makes sense to him now. It was all right in front of him the whole time, but he wouldn't let himself believe it. With all the evidence lined up in front of him, he is starting to.

"Oh my God…" he gasps, falling down into his desk chair.

"Son, you okay?" a voice says from the doorway.

Stiles turns to find his dad standing there, his face concerned. "Yeah, just realising something."

The sheriff enters the room and peers more closely at his son. "It is bad? You look like you've seen a ghost, and Scott and Lydia both left pretty quickly."

"It's not bad," Stiles assures, still holding the sweater. "I think it could actually be really good."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, dad, I'm sure."

With the sheriff gone again, Stiles vacillates between confronting Derek and staying where he is, just on the off-chance that he is wrong. He holds the sweater out in front of himself and lets it make the decision for him. Without conscious thought, he finds himself sliding his arms through the sleeves and slipping it over his head. It really is warm, and it's also pleasantly baggy on his slender frame. Standing up, Stiles knows what he has to do.

* * *

Just fifteen minutes later, Stiles is pulling his Jeep to a stop outside of the Hale house and throwing himself out of it. He is pleased to see that only the Camaro is parked outside now, meaning he and Derek won't have an audience for the long-overdue conversation he is about to force them to have. He doesn't bother knocking on the front door and just storms inside, on the hunt for the alpha to get an answer once and for all.

Either way, he needs to know for sure.

Stiles finds Derek sitting in the living room, a book open in his lap. The pile of presents the boy had left in his haste to escape is still where he had left it on the floor, but everything else is gone. For a moment he feels bad for breaking up the festive atmosphere with his reaction to the mistletoe, but only for a moment.

"What are you doing back here?" Derek enquires, dumping his book on the coffee table and getting up.

"You and I need to talk," Stiles responds, crossing his arms.

"About what?"

"I think you know what."

"Let's pretend that I don't," Derek says evasively. His face is mostly impassive, but Stiles can see a hint of nervousness beneath the facade.

"About this," the human explains, gesturing to his sweater. "You gave me this, didn't you?"

Derek is silent, but he doesn't deny it. Stiles goes on.

"You gave me those other things, too. After I left here earlier, Scott and Lydia came to see what was wrong and said a few things that put some things into perspective. Do you want to know what they said?"

"I have a feeling you're going to tell me anyway," Derek murmurs, more nervousness showing now.

"Lydia told me how you feel about me."

Derek goes silent again, but his wide and vulnerable eyes inform Stiles that the banshee was right. The unguarded expression brings out Stiles' protective instincts in full force, and all he wants to do is hold him and protect him and tell him that everything is going to be alright. He has never felt something like this before, not even when he was convinced he was in love with Lydia.

Is this what love really feels like, Stiles wonders, the desire to keep the object of your affections safe and happy, no matter the cost? He thinks it must be. He is oddly calm about this revelation. Loving Derek comes naturally to him, it seems.

From how emotionally stunted he knows the alpha to be, though, he is aware that Derek will never be the first to admit it. He has been hurt too many times for that and those occasions left the huge, slow-healing scars to prove it. Stiles will have to lead the way.

"So…I've never really come right out and said this before," he starts, fidgeting, "but I'm in love with you." He doesn't anticipate a verbal response and so isn't disappointed when he doesn't get one, but the vulnerability on Derek's face becomes even more profound. It makes him look younger, more innocent and less hardened by life. Stiles thinks it's a very good look on him. "You don't have to say it back if you don't want to, or if by some chance Lydia was wrong and you bought all that stuff for me for some other reason. But, if you _do_ feel the same then…there's no rush. I can wait. I know you'd be worth it."

Averting his eyes, Stiles glances behind him at the front door. "Well, now that I've said what I came here to say, I guess I should be going. It's pretty late."

He turns and makes it a single step before his wrist is grabbed and he is spun back around, stopped beneath the mistletoe again. Derek is inches away now, his expression still open but determined. Stiles waits on bated breath for the alpha's next move.

"I—" Derek tries, but his voice is rough and the words seem stuck in his throat.

He growls frustratedly, and just when Stiles is about to reassure him again that he doesn't need to say anything, Derek tugs him hard and their lips slam together. It's jarring, and Stiles stands there completely frozen because of the unexpectedness of it. But after a few seconds his brain catches up and he kisses Derek back.

As far as first kisses go, it starts out pretty ordinary, chaste. But when Derek's hands cup his face and Stiles opens his mouth on a sigh, it gets a lot more intense. Derek's tongue slides expertly past his lips, and Stiles can do nothing but grip the alpha's arms tightly and follow along to the best of his ability—which isn't very well, but Derek doesn't seem to care.

Stiles loses track of time, tasting and smelling and feeling Derek all around him. It's perfection.

But all good things must end eventually, and long before Stiles is ready—he doesn't think he would ever really be ready—Derek pulls away. The only concession is that he doesn't go far. He keeps holding Stiles to him and presses their foreheads together so he can stare into Stiles' eyes, his pupils blown so that only a tiny amount of red is visible. They share the same air and grip each other like they never want to let the other go; which, in Stiles' case, he doesn't.

"That was…" he gasps, hardly daring to believe that the kiss really happened.

"I know," Derek agrees, equally breathless.

"Are we really doing this?"

"I don't know how much of myself I can really give you, but if you want to—"

"Yes!" Stiles exclaims. "I already told you I don't mind waiting for you."

"You shouldn't have to, though."

Stiles hums quietly. "No, but I want to."

The alpha searches Stiles' face for truth and sincerity and finds it. "Okay… Okay, I'll try."

Feeling incandescently elated, Stiles kisses Derek again and already finds himself addicted to the taste of him, to the security of his arms around him.

When this kiss ends as well, the grandfather clock that stands proudly against one of the walls—which Derek had had restored when the Hale house was rebuilt—starts chiming. Stiles counts the chimes and, when he counts twelve, he smiles softly at the man in front of him.

"Merry Christmas, Sourwolf," he says.

"Merry Christmas, Stiles."

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas, everybody! Or Happy Holidays, depending on what you celebrate. :)
> 
> I hope you guys enjoyed this little festive treat. I've wanted to write a Christmas fic for a few years now, but I've never remembered in enough time to actually write one until now. It was a lot of fun to create. I've also come to realise that the rest of the pack playing matchmaker to Stiles and Derek is something that has featured with alarming frequency in my works... Oh well. I just enjoy that trope too much, I suppose. If any of you have a prompt—full-length, one-shot, PWP or otherwise—let me have 'em and I'll see what I can do. ;) Seriously, as long as it's Sterek M/M, _anything_ is welcome.
> 
> **P.S. Don't forget to subscribe to me to be notified when my future fics go live, which will all be Sterek. I've got some good stuff planned. And feel free to check out my past fics if you haven't already.**


End file.
